


Size Matters

by toesohnoes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a very large man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Size Matters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosandwhim](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chaosandwhim).



The brutal intrusion as he pushes down onto Sherlock's cock is enough to steal the breath from John's lungs and send his pulse racing wildly, his face flushed in frantic delight. Straddled over Sherlock's lap, sinking down onto him inch by inch, he doesn't think he's ever encountered something so long and filling before.

He clings to Sherlock's torso as he takes him right to the root, Sherlock's hands planted delicately on his arse, feeling without controlling. A long groan of contentment rumbles from Sherlock's chest, vibrating right through John's body, but he doesn't demand that John hurry up.

He nuzzles his mouth against Sherlock's and tastes him as his body twitches and trembles around him, adjusting to the enormous strain of taking him inside. "You're huge," John pants, the words almost lost against Sherlock's lips. He doesn't mean it as an empty compliment, but he can feel Sherlock smirking anyway.

To prevent him from making any smart-ass deductions, John moves, raising himself up inch by delicious inch. The friction is incredible, heavenly even while it stings. Sherlock's hands clench on his buttocks, grasping tightly while he sucks unexpected air into his lungs.

Rising slowly, John then slams himself down hard. Sherlock fills him up, stretching him wide, until there's nothing he can do but pant and ride him, every sensation rippling through him: so much, too much.

Sherlock groans near his ear, urging him onward, but he can't move fast enough - his legs are strained, his muscles tremble, but he still wants so much more. "Sherlock," he moans.

He doesn't have to say anything more than that.

Sherlock knows what he wants; Sherlock always knows.

There is barely a second's pause before Sherlock has him on his back, his legs spread wide before Sherlock plunges home once more, knocking all the sense from John's brain. John's back arches and he takes everything Sherlock gives him - takes it willingly and begs for more.

Heat flashes through him with every thrust, again and again, and the temperature soars as Sherlock takes John's hand and pushes it between him, guiding him to wrap his hand around his own cock and jerk in time with Sherlock's strong, masterful strokes. When John's hand is moving, Sherlock grips hold of the headboard and uses it as leverage to drive into him, every inch of his cock a powerful tool that takes John apart.

He feels like he's nothing more than flesh, nothing more than pleasure; the outside world strips away until it is just him and Sherlock. Blood and death and murder don't exist any more. The intelligent blackness of Sherlock's eyes focus only on him.

He presses his head back against the pillow, his entire body quaking every time Sherlock drives into him. It's too much; it's all too much, and he can't help but plead for more all the same.

Sherlock dives down and takes the invitation of his bared neck, the dark curls of his hair tickling against John's face as he kisses and sucks on tender flesh. His tall body is hunched over John, hips thrashing as he pushes deeper, deeper, _deeper_.

When he spills inside John, a loud groan muffled against his neck, his seed fills him up. John moans along with him, panting desperately - he's still hard, jerking desperately on his own cock to try to catch up, until Sherlock bats his hand away and replaces it with his own. He knows just how to touch him, his palm large and strong and firm, taking John apart as surely as he knows how to put him together.

"Come now, John," Sherlock purrs, sounding ridiculously composed while his face is flushed and sweat beads on their bare bodies. "I want you to. I want to watch."

Unable to deny him anything, John lets go while Sherlock softens slowly inside him.

Lost in the rush of climax, the only thing he is aware of is Sherlock's dark and fascinated gaze, watching him closely, intently, like there's something there that's truly worth seeing.


End file.
